


"Don't You Leave Me."

by Henry_Sturges_to_Henry_Lincoln



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Late at Night, Love, M/M, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:11:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Henry_Sturges_to_Henry_Lincoln/pseuds/Henry_Sturges_to_Henry_Lincoln
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't you leave me. Please John, don't you ever leave me. I can't do it, I can't go back to being alone. I can't face this big, bad world on my own anymore. I need you, John. Please don't... Just please don't go." </p><p>A small smile found John's face. The softness in his eyes almost enough to lull Sherlock to sleep right there. "I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock. Come Hell and high water, I'm with you 'till the bitter end."</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Don't You Leave Me."

**Author's Note:**

> Johnlock one-shot I randomly came up with~ Enjoy please!! Comment and kudo if you like! And if you have any requests, I'd be happy to oblige. :)
> 
> ***I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters!***

_The rain was coming down hard, hitting the sidewalk and erupting into mist against the cold, night air. John and Sherlock were too cold to take their hands out of their pockets and hold each other's hand, so they just walked practically pressed against each other._

 

_John shivered and huffed, "I'm starting to think we should've waited until the morning to get Mrs. Hudson her tea."_

 

_"I told you," Sherlock replied flatly. "But you insisted on going."_

 

_"I know," John growled._

 

_"I'm just saying, you should listen to me more often. I'm smarter than you, I thought this out more. And next time you insist on walking to the grocery store in the middle of the night, please do let me stay at the flat." Sherlock continued._

 

_John groaned, "I get it Sherlock."_

 

 _"Good," Sherlock said. He noticed John said nothing more and glanced over at him. Sherlock cringed a bit; John seemed mad._  Did I say something?  _he thought._

 

_Sherlock was going to ask, but there was a figure at the end of the sidewalk, standing right on the corner. Sherlock wasn't sure how he saw it; just darkness against more darkness, but he did. John saw it a moment after and they both stopped in their tracks. "Do you see that?" John asked._

 

_"Of course I see it, only an idiot wouldn't."_

 

 _John shot Sherlock a look, and Sherlock supposed that maybe_ that _one was a little rude. Honestly though, he couldn't help it. He was annoyed that John dragged him out here at this (freezing) hour. John took a step forward. "Are you okay?" he called._

 

_The figure only slightly shifted. Every nerve in Sherlock's body came alive. Something was wrong._

 

_"I think something's wrong," John muttered, once again impressing Sherlock with his intelligence._

 

_The only difference between them; Sherlock felt a wrong that meant turn-around-and-go-home. John felt a this-person-needs-helps-let's-help-them kind of wrong. And Sherlock somehow knew that John was making the wrong decision as he started toward the person with his limp._

 

_"John," Sherlock hissed. "We should go."_

 

_"I think they need help," he said, just briefly looking over his shoulder._

 

 _"Don't be_  stupid _, John. They're fine, but we won't be-"_

 

" _Ya know Sherlock, I don't care what you think." John snapped, turning towards Sherlock. "I am tired of you telling me I'm wrong and stupid- I will make my own choices, and I don't want your help in doing so. Thank you."_

 

 _Sherlock just stood, shocked. John turned and marched back towards the person. Sherlock frowned and a sick feeling, one he didn't often feel-_  guilt- _washed over him. By the time John reached the man at the end of the street, Sherlock had just started a slow, hesitant walk towards them._

 

_"Sherlock-" One word, panicked, from John. And cut short by a gun shot._

 

_Every thing quieted in Sherlock's world for a moment. It tilted ever-so-slightly, the heavy rain drops sounding distorted. Like he had cotton in his ears. He watched in such thick, slow time as John was falling to his knees. It wasn't until John lay flat on his stomach on the sidewalk, one hand draped loosely over the curb, that everything snapped back._

 

_"John," Sherlock murmured, moving that way. "John." he repeated, a bit louder, running._

 

_"Oopsy, surprise!" Moriarty laughed, waving the gun in his hand carelessly. "How will Sherlock play this game now?" he asked with painfully thick mockery._

 

 _Sherlock felt a lot of things; rage, terror, pain, regret, concern- he thought briefly about attacking Moriarty, but then a grim thought occurred to him;_  What if these are John's last moments? 

 

_Sherlock decided to attend to John._

 

_He dropped to his knees, the cold water seeping through his pants and gripping his knees with discomfort. But he hardly felt it, he was too focused on John. "John," Sherlock breathed, rolling him over on his back, "John, please, oh John."_

 

_John coughed and blood splattered across his lips, dotting his wet, pale face with thick crimson. Sherlock didn't want to look down, but he did. John's right hand was clasped tightly to his stomach, close to his right hip. Sherlock braced himself and prayed to a God he didn't believe in as he grabbed John's hand and slowly moved it out of the way. God didn't answer his prayer- it was almost impossible to see in the darkness, but there was blood on his shirt. It looked black in the darkness and his shirt was slick and warm there._

 

 _"Sorry Sherlock, I know you really liked your pretty pet. But I thought, maybe, you were... playing my game... too well. Too well with him around. And I don't like outside interferences. This game Sherlock," he said, leaning down and grabbing Sherlock's chin, looking him dead in the eye. Moriarty's eyes were stone cold and evil, like Sherlock was gazing into a serpent's eyes. "is between_  you  _and_  me _._ " 

 

_And with that, he calmly strolled around the corner, disappearing into the darkness like an apparition._

 

_Sherlock turned to John and frantically grabbed his face, "John, you're going to be fine, just fine. Just tell me what to do, John, tell me what to do."_

 

_"Pressure," John coughed after a long time._

 

_Sherlock used both hands and pressed them against the bullet wound as hard as he could. John cried out, but Sherlock didn't budge. He didn't want him to die, he couldn't have him die. He needed him._

 

_"Sherlock," John coughed again, his lips trembling and his voice stuttering, "I love you."_

 

_"I love you too, John. Now hang on, I'll call for help." Sherlock said, feeling his own lips tremble. Suddenly his dam burst, and his emotions were drowning him. He let out a pathetic, strangled cry as he pulled out his phone. His vision was blurred, he could barely see what he was pressing through the tears, but muscle-memory was serving well._

 

_John put his bloody, trembling hand on Sherlock's phone and pushed it down. Sherlock looked at him, blinking the tears away. He refused to look at John without perfect clarity. Because that was what John deserved. Sherlock didn't deserve him, he knew that, he'd always known that. But now that John was leaving him, God, he wished he did deserve him. Because he certainly needed him._

 

_"Don't," John whispered, cracking a shaking smile. "No good," he said through a wavering, weak whisper._

 

_Sherlock wanted to push his hand away, tell him he was wrong, but he knew. He knew that John knew._

 

_"I'm going... to die."_

 

_Sherlock almost had to make sure someone didn't shoot him in the heart. The pain was so real, so intense. Those tears were back, and they didn't stay long enough to cloud his vision. They ran down his cheeks, becoming lost in the rain drops. "John," he said, leaning forward and resting his forehead against John's. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way I talked to you, and the way I treated you. I love you so much."_

 

_John opened his mouth to say something, looking almost at peace, but then pain struck him. Rage boiled in Sherlock's chest. How dare it? How dare the world pain him as he dies?_

 

_John's entire body stuttered and he choked on air, gritting his teeth and letting out strangled gasps and groans, eyes wide with pain. Sherlock knew what was happening, but yet, he was afraid. So damn terrified. "John...." Sherlock said, looking over him, "John, stop it!" he yelled, tears running down his soaked cheeks. "Stop it right now!"_

 

_And he did._

 

_And he was dead._

  
_Sherlock looked over his lifeless body. He knew he was dead. But yet he still checked everywhere a pulse could be, he still gave him mouth-to-mouth, he still dialed 911 and begged them to save him, and he still sat at John's side while waiting for the ambulance, hoping and half-expecting him to wake up. But he was gone. And he would be. Forever._

 

 

Sherlock awoke with a strangled gasp. 

 

Terror still gnawed and clawed at his heart, a cold sweat had bathed his body. His chest heaved, his eyes wetting with tears. John stirred. He looked over his shoulder groggily at Sherlock before quickly reaching for the light and pushing himself up, sitting next to Sherlock. "Sherlock?" he asked worriedly, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Sherlock, are you okay?" 

 

"A nightmare," Sherlock murmured. He chuckled, the terror starting to seep away just barely. "Just... A nightmare. Just a frightening, unpleasant dream." the relief was so intense Sherlock had to lean against the bed frame. 

 

"Had a bad dream?" John asked with a lopsided smile. 

 

Sherlock looked at him and his heart burst. Literally the most important thing, the most important person, the very _love of his life_ and whatever should come after it- right there, smiling at him. Alive. And Sherlock had taken him, this amazing, smart, handsome, incredible person for granted. Sherlock tackle-hugged John to the bed, pressing his precious, precious lover against his chest. 

 

John struggled, "Sherlock," he said, muffled under Sherlock, "Sherlock, I can't breathe." 

 

Sherlock pulled away and grabbed John's face, smiling harder and bigger than he ever had. "John, I love you so much." 

 

John looked absolutely baffled. He placed a hand on Sherlock's forehead. "Do you have a fever?" 

 

"No!" Sherlock said, "John, I love you more than anything and I apologize for every rude thing I've ever said and will say!" 

 

The amusement in John's eyes faded and he grabbed Sherlock's face, "Sherlock, what happened in that dream?" 

 

Sherlock frowned and gazed into those multi-colored, brilliant, stunning eyes. "I lost you, John. In my dream, I lost you. Don't you leave me. Please John, don't you ever leave me. I can't do it, I can't go back to being alone. I can't face this big, bad world on my own anymore. I need you, John. Please don't... Just please don't go."

 

A small smile found John's face. The softness in his eyes almost enough to lull Sherlock to sleep right there. "I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock. Come Hell and high water, I'm with you 'till the bitter end."

 

Sherlock returned the smile and leaned forward, leaving a very soft kiss on John's lips before laying back beside him. He felt a little better now. John loved him, and Sherlock was going to make sure he didn't screw that up. 

 

John scooted up a bit to be eye-level with Sherlock. "Ya know," he said, glancing at the clock before looking back at Sherlock, his face somehow unreadable to even Sherlock. "It's one o'clock in the morning. Maybe we could afford to waste a half an hour- we'd still have plenty of time to sleep afterwards." he said, a devious little grin finding his face, accompanied by that sexy spark in his eyes Sherlock knew so well. 

 

Sherlock laughed and rolled on top of John, straddling him, "Only a half an hour? Dear Watson, you've gone mad." 

 

Sherlock kissed him and John's soft laughing against his lips made him feel alive. And he knew  _this_ was bliss. And John was his, and he'd always, always keep it that way. 

 

_Come Hell and high water._


End file.
